


Unprecedented

by sahiya



Series: Two Watchers and Two Slayers [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-13
Updated: 2009-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith shows up in Sunnydale with her watcher, Wesley, and a pissed off Kakistos on their tail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://taffimai.livejournal.com/profile)[**taffimai**](http://taffimai.livejournal.com/)'s prompt in the [Giles H/C Ficathon](http://community.livejournal.com/tweedandtea/156087.html): AU version of Season Three: Faith rescued her watcher from Kakistos' torture chamber, and shows up on Giles's doorstep on the run and with a badly injured Wesley in tow. Thanks to [](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/profile)[**fuzzyboo03**](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

The school hallway was dark and quiet this time of night, hours after everyone else had left. Buffy had a bounce in her step and a spark in her eyes as they walked along that Giles hadn't seen there in months, not since long before Angel's death and her subsequent disappearance. He felt battered from their workout, but for once he relished the ache of his muscles. She was home, he told himself, listening to her chatter on about her geometry make-up exam on Monday. She was home. She was safe and she was home.

"It's kinda cool not having to lie to Mom anymore about where I've been when we're training," she said as they pushed through the glass doors. Giles turned to lock up with his master key. "No more telling her I'm at Willow's or the Bronze. Just - at the library, training with Giles."

"Yes," he said, pocketing his key. "I think that perhaps the Council should rethink their policy of complete secrecy. We could have avoided a great deal of misunderstanding these last two years if your mother had known from the beginning." Perhaps then Buffy might not have felt she had to run away to begin with. He knew it had actually had very little to do with what her mother had said to her, but it had been the proverbial last straw and they might have avoided it if Buffy's mother had known. Joyce had been trying to apologize to him without actually apologizing ever since Buffy's return, but he was well aware that what she had said to him had not been without merit. Buffy had lied to her mother, multiple times, with Giles's full knowledge.

They crossed the car park in silence. Not for the first time since she had come home, Giles found himself reaching for something to say to her and coming up empty-handed. She didn't seem uncomfortable with it, though, and so eventually he gave up. They reached the Citroen in its space at the back of the lot; Giles unlocked the doors and slid into the driver's side, reaching across to unlock her door. She slid in beside him. He started the engine and twisted around to see out the back - and froze as a car suddenly peeled into the car park so fast he was certain it must have left tread marks.

"Whoa, Giles, did you see -"

"Yes," he said grimly, put the car in reverse and hit the gas rather recklessly, hoping they might somehow yet evade whoever it was - he could imagine only too well who might want to track down the slayer and her watcher in a deserted car park at night.

No such luck. The car, battered and dented, a crumpled piece of its front bumper hanging off of it, jerked and stalled out as though someone had tried to change gears and failed, but still managed to block their exit, sliding slowly into the chainlink fence that separated the car park from the pavement beyond. Giles wondered if he should take incompetence with a clutch as a good sign.

Buffy obviously didn't. She swore, going for her stake. "And this was almost a good night."

"Buffy, wait -" he said, but she was already out of the car, weapon in hand, marching across the car park with grim determination. He grabbed his own stake and one of her short swords out of the back seat and ran after her, just in time to see the other car's dented door fly open and someone emerge.

Giles suddenly realized why the car was so terribly driven, not to mention in such horrible condition. It was a teenage girl. Dark-haired, slim, and wearing very, very tight trousers of a material meant, he assumed, to approximate leather. She moved incredibly fast, as fast as Buffy did when she had good reason. He shoved the stake back in his pocket and slowed to a walk. Buffy didn't seem to be moving in for the kill, which meant she probably was just a girl and not a vampire. He didn't recognize her from the high school, though, and her speed was . . . remarkable.

"Can we help you?" he asked, pausing at Buffy's shoulder.

She barely spared him a glance, looking to Buffy instead. "You Buffy?"

"Um. As far as I know."

The girl glared. "Look, I don't have time to fuck around. Are you Buffy Summers?"

Giles felt Buffy stiffen. "Yeah, what's it to you?"

She looked at Giles then, finally. Her face was hard, her mouth a grim, thin line. "You her watcher?"

"Yes, er -"

"Thank fucking Christ. You have to help him." She bolted for the passenger door and yanked it open, crouching down. "Hey," Giles heard her say to whoever was inside, in a tone so different from the hostile force she'd used on Buffy and himself that Giles blinked in bemusement. "Wes, you with me? We're here. We made it."

Whoever was inside - Wes? - made no reply except a groan of such extraordinary pain that Giles immediately unfroze, coming around the front of the Citroen to peer over the girl's shoulder. "My God," he breathed.

"Giles?" Buffy said from behind him. "What's - oh." Her _oh_ was very faint, not that Giles could blame her. He could hardly believe the man in the passenger seat was conscious, there was so much blood soaking the front of his shirt. Giles didn't want to think about the amount that must have soaked into the upholstery or how many pints he must have lost altogether. He couldn't see where the blood was coming from; the man's face, turned towards him, was ashen but unmarred. And familiar.

"Pryce?" Giles said, raising his eyebrows. "Good lord, man. What the hell happened to you?"

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce didn't answer, though the corners of his mouth twisted up in a very, very weak smile. The girl - the slayer, of course, she must be the slayer called when Kendra died - twisted around to glare at Giles. "Are you gonna do something or are you just gonna fucking stand there and stare while he bleeds to death?" she demanded.

"_Faith_," Pryce breathed, bringing them all up short. He narrowed his eyes at her.

Astonishingly, she softened, even as she stood, put her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes straight back. "Whatever, Wes, I'm not gonna stand here and wait for them get their shit together."

Giles had to admit that she was right - and also frightened out of her mind, he was sure. He wondered how far they'd driven like this. "Er, all right then. Hospital first, I suppose -"

"No," the slayer - Faith - and Pryce said at the same time.

Giles stared. "Pryce, you need a doctor. This is not the sort of thing I can fix with the Council first aid kit."

Faith shook her head. "No, you don't understand. I didn't kill him."

Giles blinked, confused, but Buffy seemed to understand almost instantly. "Faith, you mean the thing that did this is still mobile?"

Faith nodded, raking her hands through her hair and looking suddenly close to tears. "I tried - but I couldn't, not without - I had to get Wes out, and it was that or - but now he's after us. You can't take him to a hospital, it's a public building, he'll just walk right in."

"Hey, Faith, it's okay," Buffy said, reaching out to touch Faith's arm. "You did the right thing. You got him out and you didn't die." Faith nodded mutely, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Buffy's mouth twisted briefly - in sympathy, perhaps. "But you're right, if - is it a vampire?"

Faith nodded. "Kakistos."

Giles had to refrain from swearing, settling for his usual, "Oh dear."

Faith gave a brief laugh, without humor. "Guess you've heard of him."

"Who?" Buffy said blankly.

"I'll explain later." Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is not a safe place for us to be. Pryce, you're coming home with me. Buffy, do you think your mother would mind Faith staying in your guest room for a few days?"

"Yeah, sure," she said, eyeing Faith warily, despite her burst of understanding.

"No way," Faith said, shaking her head. "I'm not leaving Wes. I didn't drive that hunk of scrap metal all the way from Los fucking Angeles to lose him now!"

"You aren't going to lose him," Giles said, with rather less patience than he would normally have had. The longer they stood there the more the back of his neck itched. Kakistos. Oh dear, indeed. "There simply isn't room at my flat for three people."

"I'll sleep on the floor then, I don't _care_ -"

"Faith," Pryce said, and reached out to touch her on the hand. "Mr. Giles will -" he gasped, painfully, then coughed, and Giles's level of alarm shot up. If he was coughing blood, he would have to insist on taking him to hospital, and they would just have to take turns standing guard. "He'll take good care of me, I promise," he managed to finish at last.

Faith didn't answer. She looked from her watcher to Giles and back again - and that was when Giles saw headlights come up the deserted street. He stiffened in alarm, especially when it slowed. Long, black car with heavy tinted windows - in Sunnydale that meant one thing. Buffy saw it, too, and was already moving by the time Giles opened his mouth. "Let's fight about it later, I think we got company," she said, and shoved Faith into the back seat. Giles threw himself into the driver's side and locked all the doors. Faith had left the keys in the ignition, thank God. The car had backed up and was turning, obviously set on plowing straight into them. He turned sharply, barely missed taking off the Citroen's front bumper, and floored it across the car park. The other car followed them, just as he'd hoped; he made a sharp U-turn and hit the gas.

"Hang on," he said, rather belatedly. He heard Pryce moan, probably at the pressure the seatbelt exerted on his wounds when Giles accelerated, but there was nothing to be done. Giles gritted his teeth and mentally thanked all gods that this car had quite a bit more power behind it than the Citroen, which had never let him down but did not tend to be very good for speedy get-aways. He peeled around the first corner onto a deserted backstreet with no stoplights, hoping he could baby a bit more speed out of it even with the front bumper hanging off and scraping along every time they hit the smallest bump in the road. The noise almost hid the sounds Pryce made, though not the swearing under his breath between bumps. A few especially choice phrases made Giles eye him sideways. This was a very different Wesley Wyndam-Pryce than the one he remembered, admittedly rather vaguely, from his last stint at the Council home office.

"How are we?" he asked tersely, glancing into the rearview mirror.

"We're not shaking the Batmobile," Buffy said, twisted around in her seat to see out. Faith, Giles saw with some alarm, was sitting stock still, staring straight ahead. "Damn, I wish we had that bag of weapons out of your trunk, Giles. Bet I could take out a tire with a crossbow."

"There's - bag," Pryce groaned. "Weapons - Faith -"

Faith didn't move. Buffy took the hint, though, and dove into the back of the car, coming up with two crossbows. "Take this," she told Faith.

Giles glanced into the mirror just in time to see Faith look down at it and suddenly unfreeze, sitting up straight and twisting around to look back. "Bastard," she muttered.

"Not yet, Buffy," Giles said. "Let me get us further away from downtown." He kept his eyes trained firmly on the road, running a red light and taking the next two turns as fast as he dared until they found themselves in a part of Sunnydale that was deserted after dark by everyone who knew better. Unfortunately for Pryce it was less well-paved than the more populated parts of town. He hit a particularly bad pothole and Pryce cried out, causing Faith to whip around.

"Crossbow!" Giles yelped.

"Shit, sorry."

"Slow down a bit, Giles," Buffy said. "Yeah, perfect. Ready?"

"Yeah," Faith said, and if she didn't sound certain than at least she didn't hesitate. Giles heard the crossbow mechanisms cocking, almost in unison, and then felt a suddenly draft down the back of his neck as they lowered the windows to lean out. He tried to keep the car as steady as possible, holding his breath until he heard, just barely, twin _thwaps_. Then both girls threw themselves back inside and Buffy yelled, "Drive, drive, drive!"

Tires squealing they shot out of there. A few more twists and turns around the old part of town, which wasn't quite so grid-like as the more recent additions, and Buffy reported they were clear. "I got them," she added, sliding back down in her seat. "Faith?"

"Yeah," Faith said, "think so. I mean, nothing to it right, no big, right, hitting a -" She broke off.

She was white as milk, Giles saw in the mirror. "Faith?" he said. No answer. "Faith, put your head down on your knees. Buffy -"

"Yeah, got it," she said, and shoved Faith over. "Don't puke," Giles heard her tell Faith helpfully.

"M'fine," Faith said indistinctly.

"Sure," Buffy said, and then raised her head. "Okay, someone want to tell me what's the up with this Kissing Toast guy?"

"Kakistos," Giles corrected, rolling his eyes. "It's Greek. It means the worst of the worst."

"Huh. And he's a vamp?"

"A very old vampire, so old his hands and feet are cloven."

"What, like a pig's?" Giles nodded. "Yuck."

Giles turned onto Revello Drive and pulled into the driveway, cutting the engine and pulling the emergency brake. He pried his hands from their death grip on the steering wheel and twisted around in time to see Faith sit up slowly. She was pale but alert, brow furrowing in instant suspicion as she peered out at the house. "Where are we?"

"Home sweet home," Buffy said with a sigh. "Come on. My mom was talking homemade mac 'n' cheese when I left this morning."

Faith stiffened. "Nuh uh. I'm not leaving Wes."

Giles found himself suddenly avoiding Buffy's eyes. He was tired and not looking forward to the first aid he'd have to give Pryce once he got him home - and how was he going to get the man out of the car to begin with? - even without Faith around to make matters more difficult, but he had to admit that her dogged devotion to her watcher was . . . touching. He could not help wishing suddenly that Buffy had shown just a bit of it three months ago.

Foolish. He understood that she'd felt she'd had to leave. He did. Except for moments like these when he remembered how it had felt at the time, as though she had abandoned him without a second thought, and found he did not understand quite so well after all.

"It - it's only for one night, Faith," he managed at last, removing his glasses to polish them. "Pry - Wesley will be fine with me, and you and Buffy can come by in the morning, as early as you like."

"Bet my mom'll even drive us," Buffy said. "She works Saturday mornings and Giles's place is on her way."

Giles nodded. "Agreed, Faith?"

She didn't answer, but Giles could see her wavering. "Wes?" she finally said, reaching forward to touch him on the shoulder.

"Go with Buffy," he said roughly. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right? Get some sleep. Eat something."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're not my fucking mother." Giles heard Pryce mutter something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _thank God_. Faith started to slide out after Buffy and then suddenly turned, sticking her head and shoulders back in. "Hey, you," she said to Giles, glaring, "you hurt him and I'll kick your ass."

"Why would I -" Giles began in confused indignation, just as Pryce said, with surprising force for one so injured, "_Faith. Go._"

She went with one last glower in Giles's direction. Giles waved to Buffy, and then, as soon as the door was shut behind them, slumped forward to rest his forehead on the steering wheel. Only briefly; it would not do to linger here. But it was astonishing, really, how fast the evening had slid downhill. He sighed and straightened. "How are you feeling?" he asked Pryce. "You seem a bit better than you did before."

"I had to recover from Faith's driving," Pryce replied with a groan. "God, she's terrible at the best of times, but when she's in a panic and I'm in pain . . ."

"I don't let Buffy anywhere near the wheel of a moving vehicle," Giles said, wincing in sympathy. "Slayers and technology have never really mixed, I suppose. Are you all right now for the drive home? I'll feel better once we're in my flat. It's only about ten minutes."

Pryce nodded. "Slowly, if you please. If we're not being followed."

"I believe we're in the clear," Giles said, and backed carefully out of the Summers' driveway. He chose the more well-tended surface streets through town, since they had fewer random bumps, and kept one eye on the rearview mirror at all times. But it remained empty, and he thought it unlikely that Kakistos could find out so soon where the slayer's watcher lived. He eyed Wesley sideways and decided it might be best to keep the man talking. "Have you been with Faith long, then? Or only since she was called?"

Pryce shook his head. "She was identified as a potential fairly early - thirteen, I believe it was. Went through three watchers in two years, simply wouldn't work with any of them. They sent me about a year ago, as punishment for my sins, I think." Giles refrained from snorting - the Wesley Wyndam-Pryce he'd known hadn't had any sins to be punished for. He'd been the very picture of everything the Council wished a watcher to be, among them a complete and utter prig. "A last ditch effort," Pryce continued, closing his eyes. "I think I would have gone the way of the others except her mother died a month after I arrived."

"Good lord," Giles said, stopping much too abruptly at a red light in his startlement. Pryce gasped. "Sorry, sorry. What a thing to - good lord."

"Quite," Pryce said, very faintly. "I think the rest of the story may have to wait. I feel I might -" His head tilted back as he passed out. Giles swore and, once the light turned green, shot through the intersection. At least he didn't need to worry about hurting him, just getting him home and - damn, he was never going to get him up the stairs to bed. The sofa would have to do. Perhaps he should have let Faith come along after all, he thought, then imagined how she would have panicked when Pryce fainted and decided his original decision had been wise. This was going to be unpleasant enough for the poor man without having to maintain a stiff upper lip for his frightened slayer.

Fortunately Pryce came around on his own shortly before Giles pulled into his parking space in front of his flat. "M'all right," he said fuzzily, as Giles unbuckled the seatbelt and eased it across him. It was crusted with dried blood in places and tugged at the man's wounds. Pryce bit his lip but didn't say anything. When at last Giles was done he looked down at himself and blinked. "Goodness."

"I think perhaps we might want to rethink getting you to hospital," Giles said grimly. He had a very well-stocked first aid kit and quite a bit of experience, but Pryce needed more than that. He needed an IV with saline and painkillers. He needed a blood transfusion. He needed stitches and antibiotics. None of which did Giles have on hand - well, except the painkillers. The painkillers he could do.

Pryce shook his head, just the slightest bit. "Kakistos and his henchmen know how badly injured I am. I'm sure they've staked out the casualty ward already."

Giles sighed but had to admit the man had a point. "All right, but tomorrow during the day -"

"Yes, yes, very well, let's just do this, shall we?" Pryce pushed himself up and immediately went white. Ribs, Giles thought. He still didn't know where all the blood had come from, but Pryce definitely had badly bruised or cracked ribs.

Giles managed to slip in, pulling Pryce's arm over his shoulder. "Steady on, Pryce," he murmured.

"Wesley," Pryce gasped.

"Sorry?"

"Call me Wesley." He leaned heavily on on Giles as they negotiated the steps down to the courtyard. "Pryce sounds like you're - unngh - talking about my father."

"Sorry," Giles said. "Wesley, then." He paused at the bottom of the steps. "Do you want to stop and rest here or simply push through?"

"If I stop I'll never get going again."

It was a long, slow shuffle across the courtyard. Pryce - Wesley was obviously faint from loss of blood and barely on his feet. That had been one very small favor Giles had had going for him that long, horrible night - Angelus hadn't bled him at all. He'd found other ways to inflict pain, countless other ways, but Giles suspected that he'd wanted to drain him at the end or let Drusilla do it, and so hadn't wanted to waste the blood. Giles suppressed a shiver and focused on getting his key out without letting go of Wesley. He unlocked the door, pulled Wesley over the threshold, and shut it firmly. They were safe.

Wesley had gone far too quiet for his liking. Giles installed him in the desk chair and went to fetch a couple of towels from the bathroom to spread on the sofa. Wesley was slumped over the desk half-conscious by the time he returned. Giles got him back on his feet, barely. "How's your back?" he asked quietly.

Wesley managed to lift his head from where it lay against Giles's shoulder. "Fine. S' my chest."

"Right. Lie down then." He helped him lay back against the towel-covered pillows and lifted his legs up for him. "Better?"

"Yes." Wesley did sound a bit better lying down, a little less like he was on the verge of passing out again. "Much, thank you."

"All right, let's see the . . ." _Damage_, Giles managed not to finish. "Let's see it." Wesley's shirt was shredded, which was just as well, since getting it off otherwise would have been an ordeal. As it was, pulling the gore-soaked shreds away from his chest caused a great deal of wincing. "What did he use?" Giles asked quietly, kneeling back and looking up at Wesley.

"A knife," Wesley said, looking away. "And his - I don't think that _hooves_ is quite the right word. They were surprisingly sharp."

Bloody hell. "All right. It's all right. It's over now." Wesley nodded almost imperceptibly, still avoiding his eyes. "I'm going to get something to clean you up with. I'll be right back."

He touched Wesley's hand briefly and stood. He pulled a large basin out from the cupboard over his sink, filled it with warm water and added some salt for good measure, then fetched the economy sized bottle of rubbing alcohol he kept on hand. It wouldn't replace a week of antibiotics, but all he needed was to tide Wesley over until the morning, when they could go to the casualty ward without worrying about Kakistos coming after them. Between the alcohol and some liberal application of Neosporin, Wesley would be fine until then. Giles hoped. He grabbed some clean rags from the bottom shelf of his bathroom cabinet and then a bottle of prescription painkillers. Eventually he would need bandages and such, but not for a little while yet.

Wesley opened his eyes when Giles knelt and handed him a glass of water and a painkiller. Wesley took both, draining the water completely before handing it back. "Before I start swearing and forget to say it," he said, as Giles dipped the cloth in the warm water, "thank you for - for everything. I realize it wasn't fair for us to show up like this, knowing Kakistos would follow."

"Nonsense," Giles said briskly, and began rubbing gently at the dried blood on Wesley's chest. "I'm glad you did, since the alternative - well. There wasn't any, was there?"

"No," Wesley said, wincing, "not really. It gave us a place to go - it's pure luck we found you, really, I knew you had a post at Buffy's high school, so I guessed you would be -" He hissed.

"Sorry," Giles said. "I know it stings." He worked away steadily, listening to Wesley's breathing, still too quick and shallow despite the pill. "You were telling me about Faith in the car. Her mother died a month after you arrived?"

"Yes, it was quite terrible, as you might expect. I only did what any decent person would do, but she didn't have anyone else. She . . . latched onto me, you might say. The Council pulled some strings, and now I'm her legal guardian."

"Goodness. When was this?"

"Her mother died nine months ago. I was granted legal custody of her about six months ago."

"And she was called three months ago." Giles dropped the first rag, thoroughly blood-soaked, onto the towel at his side. He dipped the second one in the basin of warm salt water, already faintly tinged with pink despite his best efforts to keep the bloody bits of the rag out of it. "I think I see now why she was so upset tonight."

"I imagine Buffy would be equally upset if something like this were to happen to you," Wesley said, eyes closing again. His breathing had evened out somewhat. Giles wasn't sure if it was talking about his slayer that had calmed him or if the pill had finally begun to work its magic, but either way he was relieved.

"Something like this did happen to me," Giles said, taking care to keep his voice steady. "The night Faith was called, actually."

Wesley's eyes opened. "I hadn't heard."

"I tried to keep it under wraps, not tell the Council more than was necessary." The actual cuts were becoming clearer now. There was indeed a great deal of blood, Giles thought, but not as much as he'd feared at first. "Vampire by the name of Angelus. I'm sure you've heard of him. He was part of the curriculum when I was at the academy - I can't imagine it's changed radically since then."

"Angelus, the Scourge of Europe?" Giles nodded, eyes on Wesley's chest. "And you lived to tell about it?"

Giles smiled tightly. "I had something he wanted. Information. How to end the world. He nearly succeeded, but Buffy - Buffy killed him." There was, of course, a great deal he was leaving out. But he didn't know Wesley well enough to trust him with the rest of the story. Buffy's affair with Angel - well, it was in his diaries, but they wouldn't receive those until after Buffy died. The Council didn't need to know that the slayer - a slayer - had a penchant for vampires, even souled ones.

"There, you see? Nothing extraordinary." Wesley's voice slowed. "The bond between watchers and slayers - some of the greatest acts of heroism in the history of the slayer line have been committed by slayers acting to avenge watchers who were killed or maimed."

"Buffy wasn't avenging me." Second rag, done. Giles hoped he'd have enough. "He'd opened a portal to one of the nastier hell dimensions and she had to kill him to close it. She left afterwards, disappeared for two and a half months. I didn't know where she was - she left a note or we wouldn't even have known she was alive. I spent weeks trying to find her, searching everywhere I could think to look. So when you say that what you have with Faith is nothing extraordinary . . ." Giles shook his head.

"Giles - I'm sorry. It's Rupert, isn't it?"

Giles didn't look up from his work. "Yes."

"Rupert, somehow I have the feeling that isn't the whole story."

Giles sighed. "No. You're right. I'm being - well, I'm being terribly unfair. And honestly, I was so relieved to have her home that I didn't even know I felt this way until - until tonight." He shook his head. "I shouldn't be burdening you with this. We barely know each other and you're injured. Please, forget I said anything." If only he could forget it as well. Repress, repress, repress, he thought bitterly. He doubted he and Buffy would ever speak of what had happened to him, not unless he forced it and he had no intention of doing so. He knew she would not have run away if she'd felt capable of staying, and yet - and yet - he had needed her. He would never think of abandoning her in such circumstances.

She was seventeen. Practically a child still. He should not feel so dependent on her, it wasn't right. But then, what was a watcher without a slayer? What was he without her?

Giles shook his head, refocusing on Wesley - and then froze, blinking in disbelief. "Oh good lord," he murmured, and looked up. Wesley looked away, avoiding his gaze. There, in Greek letters, scratched - no, _carved_ into Wesley's chest - KAKISTOS. "Wesley . . ."

"I understand there are things one can do to - to prevent scarring," Wesley said, still not meeting his eyes.

"Yes, but not until it's healed a bit more. Why did he - was there some, some reason, a ritual perhaps, that he -"

"He's Kakistos," Wesley said sharply, frowning. "He didn't need a reason, or at least he never has in the past."

Giles shook his head. "Of course not. The - the - this," Giles gestured to Wesley's chest, "it's typical of him, then, I take it?"

Wesley nodded, staring up at the ceiling. "He kidnapped me, used me to lure Faith. She was there when he -" He stopped and drew a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Giles said softly, and decided it was time to change the subject for both their sakes. "Is the painkiller I gave you working? I need to put alcohol on these, er -" _cuts_ seemed a bit of an understatement, but Giles wasn't sure he wanted to be more accurate - "these, and it's going to sting." Wesley needed stitches, really, but the bleeding seemed to have mostly stopped. Hopefully the bandages would do the trick.

Wesley gave a brief one-shouldered shrug. "I still hurt, but I don't care as much."

Giles smiled. "Yes, that's about where you should be. Lie back and close your eyes, all right?"

"And think of England," Wesley muttered, but he did as he was told. Even with the painkillers he hissed when Giles began bathing the cuts in alcohol. He checked Wesley's ribs as he went as well, pressing and feeling for bumps and contusions. He could only pray there wasn't any internal bleeding; at least Wesley didn't seem to be coughing up blood as he'd initially feared. Two cracked ribs, he decided at last. They would heal - slowly - on their own with plenty of bed rest. He suspected Wesley and Faith wouldn't be going anywhere for some time even after they took care of Kakistos. Giles found himself oddly glad of it - not glad, of course, that Wesley was injured enough to make leaving impossible, but it would be pleasant to have someone around with whom he could reminisce about home. Two watchers, two slayers - to Giles's knowledge that had never happened before.

By the time Giles finished bandaging his chest, Wesley had fallen asleep. Giles gathered up the bloody rags, stuffed them in a plastic bag, and set it on top of the washing machine. Then he got an extra pillow and his warm comforter, the one he hardly ever used in Sunnydale, out of the closet. He covered Wesley up, tucking the comforter between him and back of the sofa so Wesley wouldn't kick it off too easily, and gently lifted his head to slip the pillow underneath. Wesley stirred, blinking sleepily up at Giles.

"Sorry," Giles said. "I didn't mean to wake you. Would you like to go upstairs? The bed would be better for you."

"No, this is fine," Wesley said with a yawn. "I'm really quite comfortable here."

Quite stoned, he meant. Giles hid a smile. "Do you need anything? A hot water bottle? Tea?" He probably was dehydrated, come to think of it.

"Just water, I think," Wesley said, eyes drifting shut again, "if it's not too much trouble."

"Of course not." Giles fetched him water and a couple of ibuprofen - he couldn't have the prescription painkillers again so soon, but the Advil might make his night easier. He helped Wesley sit up and drink it, and then brought him another glass when he asked for it. He left the bathroom light on and the door cracked, and went upstairs, where he changed into pajamas. He was wound too tightly to sleep, so he crawled into bed with a book, one of the cheap spy-thrillers he indulged in on occasion.

He was nodding off over his novel when he heard it - a sharp cry from downstairs. Giles was up and out of bed before his half-awake brain could quite catch-up, and halfway down the stairs before he remembered who was on his sofa and why. Wesley had kicked the blanket off and was shivering, still asleep, still caught in the nightmare. A sheen of sweat covered his face and the unbandaged parts of his chest.

"Wesley," Giles said, shaking him. "Wesley, wake up. _Wesley_."

He came awake all at once, reaching to grasp Giles's arm in an iron grip. Giles flinched, then managed to hold very still as Wesley's eyes darted about the room, taking everything in before finally coming to rest on Giles's face. He let go then, but Giles captured his hand, squeezing it. "All right?"

Wesley nodded mutely. He took a few more gasping breaths and then managed, "I'm sorry. Sorry."

That was familiar. Giles remembered apologizing profusely to Willow and Xander every time he'd woken them with his nightmares. He'd been embarrassed but so grateful for their presence, even while wishing desperately for Buffy, that he'd feared they must eventually lose patience and leave him as well. They hadn't, of course, not until he'd got the first horrible days behind him and was mostly able to sleep without dreaming, or at least wake without screaming. "Please," he said, "there's nothing to apologize for."

Wesley lay back, eyes closed, throat working as he swallowed. "I woke you."

"I wasn't really asleep."

Wesley clearly didn't believe him, but to Giles's relief did not seem inclined to argue. "They don't - the Council's training on how to, to resist doesn't - doesn't mention the nightmares."

Giles shook his head. "No, it doesn't. They don't mention anything about what comes after something like this."

"No wonder you tried not to let on."

"Mmm," Giles said in agreement. Wesley was still shivering, though he seemed not to notice. Giles tugged the blanket up from the floor, untangled it, and tucked it around him. "Tea?"

"Please."

He made them both a cup from his stock of good English tea, sent by his sister like clockwork every six months. They drank it in silence, sitting together on the sofa, Wesley wrapped in the comforter. When Giles asked if he wanted another pill, he nodded silently, eyes trained on the carpet. Giles brought him one, along with another glass of water; he took the pill and drank half the water, setting the rest of it aside on the end table, then asked Giles to help him to the bathroom. The shuffle from the sofa was easier than the shuffle across the courtyard had been, but Giles waited outside to offer his arm once Wesley emerged nevertheless.

"Perhaps," Giles suggested once more, a bit diffidently this time, "perhaps the bed would be better? I can take the sofa, it's no trouble."

Wesley shook his head stubbornly. "I won't displace you from your bed. Really, I'm perfectly comfortable here."

Giles sighed to himself but helped Wesley get settled on the sofa once more. "Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you." Wesley's eyes were closing already, though he fought to keep them open. Giles recognized that as well; he hadn't wanted to sleep, but the pills had made him so groggy that he'd had no choice much of the time. He'd napped a lot during the day, shallow, short bits of sleep that didn't give the nightmares time to take hold, but he'd been constantly exhausted all the same.

Once he was certain that Wesley was well and truly asleep, Giles gathered up the tea mugs, took them into the kitchen, and left them in the sink to wash tomorrow. He turned the light off and stood for a moment, watching Wesley in the soft yellow light from the bathroom. "Post-traumatic stress disorder" Willow had called it while trying to talk him into seeing someone - a therapist - about it. Giles had shrugged it off, made a sarcastic remark about how he was British, he didn't need therapy when he could just make a strong cup of tea with a shot of whisky, and no, he wasn't going to take the Xanax his doctor had prescribed him without asking if he wanted it. Now, looking at it from the other side, he wondered just how wise that had been.

It was very late. Giles was certain Faith would be over at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning, checking to make sure he hadn't somehow made Wesley worse over night. He would do best to get to bed, he thought. But he didn't. After a moment he moved to the armchair, and there he stayed, watching Wesley sleep, until gray light began to creep into his living room. Wesley hadn't stirred in some time. Giles went up to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Giles rose early, despite the short night. He padded downstairs, where he looked in on Wesley - still sleeping soundly - and then made a pot of very strong coffee. He drank his first cup black, standing up at his kitchen counter, and then poured a second, adding a bit of milk and sugar this time. Feeling rather more awake, he surveyed the contents of his cupboards. He expected Buffy and Faith to show up in the next hour or two and they would undoubtedly be hungry. He had the ingredients for blueberry pancakes, he decided at last, and pulled a mixing bowl out from beneath his stove.

He was in the middle of mixing the batter when someone rattled his doorknob before knocking impatiently. He wiped his hands on a tea towel and went to answer it.

"I didn't even know you could lock that thing," Buffy greeted him.

"Yes, well, I thought all things considered - Faith," he said quickly, stopping her from making a beeline over to Wesley. "He's sleeping still. Please don't wake him."

Her glare was immediate and sullen. "Not gonna wake him. Newsflash: I'm not an idiot." She ducked away. Giles watched her over his shoulder briefly, but all she did was stand over Wesley for a moment and then tug at his blanket, pulling it up.

Buffy squeezed past him into the flat and he shut the door. "How was your evening?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Okay. Some serious wig, but whatever. I think we'll both feel better once we stake this Taquitos guy."

"Kakistos," Giles sighed, and followed her into the kitchen, where she plucked a blueberry from the strainer in the sink and popped it in her mouth. "But otherwise it was fairly quiet?"

Buffy nodded, leaning against the counter and working her way one by one through a handful of berries. "Yeah, guess so. We went to the Bronze for a bit, staked a couple vamps - the non-cloven variety." She tilted her head to glance into the living room and added, lowering her voice, "I gotta say, Giles, I'm not sure the girl is playing with a full deck. She wailed on this one vamp for like five minutes till I finally pulled her off and finished him. Serious anger management issues."

"Yes, well," Giles picked up his whisk and went back to mixing the pancake batter, "I think she was quite frightened by what happened to Wesley."

Buffy nodded, looking out towards the living room again. Giles glanced over his shoulder and saw that despite Faith's promise, Wesley was awake. She sat on the coffee table, elbows braced on her knees, talking to him - from the hand gestures she was describing a kill she'd made the night before. "Yeah, they seem pretty tight."

"Yes, they do," Giles said, then concentrated on adding the blueberries - the ones Buffy hadn't eaten, anyway - from the strainer. He finally looked up and saw her watching him with a strangely pensive expression. "From what I gathered last night, speaking to Wesley, neither of them really has anyone else. Her mother died less than a year ago."

"Wow. She didn't tell me that."

"I'm not surprised. She seems rather, well -"

"Paranoid?" Buffy suggested. "Yeah. So, trust issues _and_ anger management problems. This is gonna work out so well."

"I imagine she might be more stable when Wesley isn't, er, bleeding quite so badly." He nudged her aside so he could dig the griddle out and set it on the stove. He plugged it in and turned the heat up, then got a stick of butter out of the fridge. He brushed some over the griddle and waited for it to sizzle.

"You get him all fixed up?"

"Yes, though a trip to urgent care today would not go amiss. He should get a prescription for antibiotics, if nothing else."

Buffy nodded. The butter was sizzling. Giles ladled out the first three pancakes and they stood in silence, both watching the griddle. Giles was suddenly aware of the vast number of unspoken things that had accumulated between them all last year and over the long summer of her absence. Even now, standing so close to her in his kitchen, what should have been comfortable . . . was not. He felt as though there was a chasm between them he could not bridge. He'd not even known he needed to until the previous night, when he'd seen Faith and Wesley together. Now he knew, but he did not know how. He didn't know what to say to make things right again, nor could he possibly expect her to know.

"Giles," Buffy said at last, in a tentative tone Giles didn't think he'd ever heard from her before, "after we kick Taquitos's -"

"Kakistos," Giles said automatically, slipping a spatula beneath the first of the pancakes.

"- whatever's ass, do you think maybe we could -"

"Hey," Faith said, causing them both to turn. Faith shifted from one foot to another, hands shoved in her pockets. "I, uh, I'm sorry I was such a first class bitch last night," she said, mostly to Giles, though her eyes flicked to Buffy as well. "I was totally spazzing and Wes - he looks a lot better, so . . . thanks."

"You're welcome," Giles said, smiling at her. "Now, these seem to be ready. Buffy, could you get the plates down? I suppose we'll eat in the living room. Wesley," he added, stepping out of the kitchen. "Good morning. Pancakes?"

Wesley was pushing himself very stiffly up off the couch. "Yes, thank you, that actually sounds somewhat appetizing. Smells appetizing as well. Er," he glanced down at himself, "you wouldn't happen to have a shirt I could borrow, do you? And possibly trousers?"

"Goodness, yes, just a moment. I'm afraid everything I have will be too big, but I'm sure I can find something suitable." He slipped the first three pancakes onto a plate, ladled out the next three, and jogged upstairs. He found a pair of old, faded jeans that were rather tight on him but would not be too terribly loose on Wesley, and then a worn, almost threadbare blue jumper. It would be light enough and soft enough not to irritate his wounds, and if Wesley bled on it - which Giles hoped he wouldn't - it would be no great loss. He added a pair of boxers to the pile and carried them downstairs, handing them off to Wesley just in time to save the second batch of pancakes from Buffy's experiments with the spatula.

By the time Wesley emerged, looking a bit damp and scrubbed around the edges, Giles was working on the fourth batch of pancakes and the first three had disappeared under Faith and Buffy's combined efforts. He glanced up. "Would you like these next -" he broke off, staring despite himself.

"What?" Wesley said, frowning. He glanced down, as though checking his clothing. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Giles stammered, turning back to the pancakes. Astonishing. What that jumper did to the man's eyes - he'd noticed they were remarkably blue last night, but they'd both had other things to think about. Now he was looking rather better, with good color in his cheeks. His gait was still very stiff and Giles could tell his ribs hurt, but all the same - good lord. "These will be ready in just a few moments," he said to the griddle.

"Are you going to eat?" Wesley asked.

"Yes, I think there's one more batch left in the bowl after this. I'll have that."

"And most of this one," Wesley said, a bit wryly. "I doubt I can eat more than one."

"That's 'cause you haven't tried them yet," Buffy said, sweeping into the kitchen to place her and Faith's dishes in the sink. "Giles makes the best pancakes."

The compliment was so out of the blue that it took him momentarily aback. "I - er, thank you."

She shrugged, fidgeting as though she were embarrassed. Giles busied himself at the griddle so he wouldn't have to look at her, sliding all three pancakes onto a plate for Wesley over the man's protests. He shooed Buffy back into the living room with him. Giles watched him go. Lovely eyes and a nice arse - that combination had been the kiss of death with Ethan as well, Giles reflected. Then he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, vaguely disgusted with himself. The man was looking better, but he'd just been through hell; Giles needed to be there for him as a fellow watcher and perhaps a friend, nothing else.

By the time he emerged from the kitchen with his plate of pancakes, Buffy was on the floor doing stretches and Faith was curled up on the sofa close to Wesley, finishing off his last pancake. "I ate two," Wesley reported when Giles raised an eyebrow at him. "Consider it an accomplishment."

"I do," Giles said, smiling. He was glad to see they hadn't completely drained his bottle of farmer's market apricot syrup. He drizzled the dregs of it over his pancakes, settled himself in the armchair, and tucked in.

"So, Kakistos," Buffy said, bringing her feet together and stretching out to touch her toes, bending so her nose touched her knees - showing off in front of Faith, Giles was certain. "A plan for kicking the ass of. I propose one that involves more chasing and less being chased. All in favor?"

"Yes." Giles swallowed a mouthful of pancake and syrup. "I'd like to spend some time at the library to see if there's anything more we can learn about him. I was thinking that today would be a good opportunity to find out where they're hiding, if we can."

"Sounds like a trip to Willy's," Buffy said, turning her head and pulling a face. "Demon bar," she explained to Wesley and Faith. "My one stop shop for all sewer-related info. If the vamps've been gossiping about where Kakistos is hanging out, he'll know about it."

"And he'll tell you willingly?" Wesley said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well . . ."

"Willingly is such a relative term," Giles said dryly. "How much do you think, Buffy?"

"At least a hundred," Buffy said, straightening at last, "maybe a hundred and fifty. Hope I get to smack him around a bit this time, that's always fun."

"All right, then. Buffy and Faith will go to Willy's and scope out likely spots. Wesley and I will get him taken care of at the hospital first, then head to the library to do some research. Is that amenable to everyone?"

"Yup."

"Yes."

"No fucking way."

"Faith," Wesley began on a sigh.

"Hey, don't even, Wes. If you're going to the emergency room, then I'm going to the emergency room, too."

"I can't drive, Faith," Wesley pointed out reasonably, "and neither can you."

"I drove all the way from Los Angeles!"

"An experience that both I and my car hope never to repeat, I assure you."

Quickly swallowing a bite of pancake, Giles intervened and swiftly decreed that he and Buffy would drop Faith and Wesley off at the hospital and then pay Willy a visit, after which Giles and Wesley would spend the afternoon researching while Buffy and Faith did reconnaissance based on whatever information they were able to gather. "We'll meet back at the library at sundown," he said, standing to gather up all the syrup and butter and everything off the coffee table and take it into the kitchen, "and take matters from there."

Following a quick stop at the high school to swap Wesley's car for the Citroen, which was less recognizable, he and Buffy dropped Faith and Wesley at Sunnydale Memorial. Giles gave him his card to give to one of the emergency room attendants, as he knew the staff here almost embarrassingly well and thought it might speed them along somewhat - not that he expected the queue to be too terrible at eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning. Still, this was Sunnydale and its casualty ward tended to see more than its fair share of traffic. He watched the two of them go in the emergency room entrance, Wesley's arm around Faith's shoulders - it was hard to tell if it was simply a gesture of affection or if she was helping him walk. He'd seemed a bit pale and shaky after breakfast, as though he'd overexerted himself, so he suspected it was a little of both.

Buffy was watching them as well. She glanced briefly at Giles and then away; Giles became suddenly aware of the same feeling he'd had that morning in his kitchen - that all was not well between them and he did not know how to fix it. What was more, he realized, was that he was beginning to feel _he_ shouldn't have to, and that was dangerous.

Buffy was quiet as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot and made their way across town to Willy's. "So, um," she said at last, "we ran into Willow last night at the Bronze."

"Mmm," Giles said, checking street signs - he didn't often come to this part of town and he was vaguely worried about getting lost.

"She told me - hey, turn here," Buffy said, gesturing to the left. Giles turned, spied Willy's on the other side of the road, and pulled into the parking lot.

"Sorry, what did she tell you?" Giles asked, turning in his seat to look at her.

"Never mind," Buffy said, glancing away. "Come on, we have a snivelly little snitch to bribe."

She marched into Willy's ahead of him, all slayer business in black jeans and boots. Not for the first time Giles thought that she'd come back from her time in LA different somehow - more focused, more adult, less, perhaps, in need of his help. Maybe that was what he was reacting to; it was possible it was pure insecurity on his part, which would be rather pathetic in its own way but not quite so bad as delayed-reaction resentment on account of feelings he'd had three months ago and thought he'd left behind along with the nightmares.

No, not left behind. Repressed - also along with the nightmares. Which, as a coping mechanism -

Good lord. _Coping mechanism_. He'd been in America too long.

"Hi, Willy," Buffy said brightly. "Miss me?"

"Oh, oh, oh, hey now, it's the slayer!" Willy said, scooting back from the counter as Buffy leaned her elbows on it. "And her watcher, wow, it's great to see you guys - hey, I heard you were outta town for awhile, Buffy, did you have a nice break?"

"Not really," Buffy said. "Glad to be back, though. Or I was until this new vamp rolled in. Cloven guy, goes by the name of Kakistos. Heard of him?"

"Oh, well, I dunno, I mean, 'worst of the worst,' its sorta generic -"

"Willy, am I gonna have to slap you around? Again?"

"No, no! 'Course not! It's just, you know, I got a reputation to maintain."

Buffy sighed and to turned to exchange a look with Giles over her shoulder, clearly asking her permission to hit him. He gave the tiniest shake of his head and she rolled her eyes, turning back to Willy. "Well, watcher-guy says I can't smack you. Which, by the way, doesn't mean I won't. How much, Willy? Fifty?" She pulled the first wad of bills out of her cleavage and now it was Giles's turn to roll his eyes. He could support the theatricality, he supposed, but it made him feel a bit ill to see the way Willy went cross-eyed trying to look at the money and look down her shirt all at once.

"Fifty, I dunno. Kakistos, that's big time -"

"Ah, so you _have_ heard of him," Buffy said, smiling dangerously. "Not so generic after all."

"Well, yeah, guy like Kakistos shows up, it's big news - that's gotta be worth at least a hundred to you."

"Fine." Buffy drew another wad of bills out. "Nuh uh," she said, as Willy reached for it. "First the info, then the cash."

"All right, all right. You gotta understand, though, nothing's guaranteed, I mean, I hear lotsa rumors but demons, you know how they are, it's all talk-talk-talk."

"Willy," Buffy said, hitching herself up on the counter, "tell me where Kakistos is holed up or I'll smack you around no matter what Giles says."

"All right, all right! He's over off Broadway, poor side of town, right, keeping an eye on the hospital because he tore that other slayer's watcher up but good. Hey, how come there's two of you now?"

"None of your business. Off Broadway doesn't give me much to go on. What do I get for another fifty?"

"Buncha warehouses down there, abandoned, you know, falling apart." He held his hands up when Buffy opened her mouth. "Don't know which one, that's all I got."

"Fine." Buffy slapped the cash down, then smacked Willy upside the head.

"Ow! Hey, what was that for?"

"Being an annoying little twerp and drooling down my shirt. Come on, Giles."

"Hey, you better be careful, slayer!" Willy called out as she started to stalk out, Giles just behind her. "Watch your watcher, you don't want what happened to that other girl's watcher to happen to him."

Buffy turned in a flash. "Shut your mouth, Willy," she snapped. She pushed through the doors and into the late morning sunlight. "Runty little weasel," she muttered.

"Well, at least we have something to go on now," Giles said, unlocking the car. He slid in and reached across to unlock her door for her. "The warehouses off Broadway. Do you know where he's talking about?"

"Yeah," she said, sliding in beside him, "typical vamp nest - dark, dank, depressing. I'll grab Faith and we'll do the Nancy Drew thing, see if we can figure out which one it is before the sun goes down and they get to come out and play. Just where I wanted to spend my Saturday night," she added in a mutter.

"Buffy -"

"Yeah, yeah, sacred duty, blah blah. I get it. I'm not complaining - well, okay, yeah, I totally am, but -"

"No, I was going to say - please be careful." Giles turned in his seat to make sure she was listening carefully. "Kakistos earned his name several centuries ago. He's not like other vampires. He doesn't have motivations, whims, things that can be used against him. He hurt Wesley very badly, and he did it for sport. I don't want either you or Faith getting hurt as well."

She nodded, pressing her lips together. He pulled out of the lot and began negotiating the winding streets back to the hospital. "Giles," she said at last, in that same, strangely tentative tone she'd used that morning before Faith had interrupted them. "What - what Angel did to you. That was - you had information he wanted, but it was the same thing, wasn't it?"

"He enjoyed himself thoroughly," Giles said, feeling suddenly rather ill. He wondered suddenly what she'd spoken to Willow about last night at the Bronze. There were things Willow and Xander knew that no one else did; they'd seen him at his absolute lowest those first few days. Part of him hoped Willow had told Buffy how bad it had been, but part of him fervently hoped she hadn't. He didn't want Buffy to see him as weak, didn't want her feeling she had to go out of her way to protect him. He'd thought he wanted to have this conversation, but he was beginning to discover that he didn't much want to after all. "He was a vampire, Buffy."

"I know, believe me, I know, I just . . ." She swallowed. "Will said it was bad. She wouldn't tell me much, but . . . Giles, I know I wasn't there for you afterwards -"

"No, you weren't," he said flatly. Ah, there was his anger. It felt good. Dangerously good. This was not going to go well.

Especially since she seemed to have found hers as well. "God, you couldn't make this any easier, could you?"

Giles had to physically unclench his jaw. "Give me one reason I should, when I spent - it took me _weeks_ to - to - hell, what am I saying? I'm not over it. My fingers still ache, I get horrendous headaches some days, I'm not sure the nightmares will ever go away. And no," he kept his eyes trained ruthlessly on the road, "you weren't there."

"I'm sorry, all right? How many times do I have to say it? I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I'm sorry Willow and Xander and everyone spent the summer staking vampires because I wasn't around to do it. I wouldn't have gone if -"

"If what?" he asked, pulling over suddenly. The car behind him blared its horn angrily as it blew by. He pulled the parking brake but left the engine running. "If you hadn't had to stake him after all? He was a killer, Buffy. He murdered Jenny, he tortured me. And if you hadn't had to kill him to save the world -"

"Shut up," she said, crying freely now. "You have no fucking clue, all right?" She drew away from him, curling up in her seat, wiping her nose on the back of her wrist. He leaned on the steering, resting his forehead on his hands. This was why he hadn't wanted to force it, he thought. He'd not wanted to hurt her, and now he had. He closed his eyes, but he could still hear her snuffling. After a moment he reached into his pocket and withdrew his handkerchief. He handed it over without looking at her and she took it. She blew her nose and gulped air for a few more seconds. "You don't know," she said at last.

He looked at her sharply. That sounded much less vague and hypothetical than he'd expected, not merely an overwrought expression of angst. "What don't I know?" he asked.

She shook her her head and looked away, scrubbing at her face with the handkerchief.

"Buffy, if there's something I should know, you must tell me."

"No," she said softly, staring out the window at the passing traffic. "Let's just go, okay?"

It wasn't okay. Giles watched her for a minute, but she kept her face turned resolutely away, and at last he released the parking brake and eased back out into traffic. Short, brutal, and incomplete - he'd known that was how that conversation would go. He'd hoped to spare them both, though he had to admit, if only to himself, that a very small, very cruel part of him was glad she knew, or could at least imagine, how terrible it had been. A slightly larger part of him was simply relieved that she'd finally shown some concern. Most of him just felt scraped raw by it.

Neither of them spoke for the duration of the drive to the hospital, nor for the first thirty minutes they spent in the waiting room. Wesley was in x-ray, apparently, and Faith was with him. From the long-suffering look the nurse at the desk gave him when he asked, Giles assumed she was being a pain in the arse. Giles returned to sit next to Buffy, who was flipping through a two-year-old _People_ magazine without reading a word.

"I hate this place," she muttered.

"So do I," Giles said. He found himself rubbing the fingers on his left hand repetitively. They were aching, but he was almost certain it was psychosomatic. He glanced up to see Buffy watching him. He stopped.

They sat in silence for another fifteen minutes. Finally Buffy stirred. "Hey."

He looked up from his contemplation of the scarred linoleum. "What?"

"That orderly." She nodded towards a man in scrubs pushing a cart. "Something about him seem weird to you?"

He shook his head. "No, why?"

"Tassled loafers," she said, standing. "Why can't vamps get with the nineties?" She opened her purse and pulled out a stake. "Not to mention that it's broad daylight and that's just cheating."

"He must have come in last night and stayed," Giles said, standing and holding his hand out. She slapped a second stake into his palm. "I imagine there are too many people down here, but upstairs, once they take him out of x-ray -"

"He'll be stuck in a room with just Faith, doing the thumb-twiddling thing. Right."

Giles glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying them any mind. They pushed through the swinging doors together. The hallway beyond was deserted and the cart was shoved off to the side, abandoned. Buffy listened for a minute, head cocked, then ducked through a doorway to the right that led into a stairwell. She took the stairs three at a time and Giles was huffing by the time they got to the top. X-RAY, it said helpfully in large black letters. She made a nose of satisfaction, took her stake out of her back pocket, and shoved the door open.

"For Kakistos we live!" someone shouted, and Faith came flying out of a room down the hall to slam into a wall and slump to the floor. The vampire, still wearing scrubs but with its face twisted into its demon visage, advanced on her. "For Kakistos you'll die."

A nurse lay sprawled on the floor, bleeding from a bite mark on her neck. "Giles!" Buffy said, pointing, and broke into a run.

The woman's pulse was faint but steady. She'd live; the vampire obviously hadn't had time to drain her completely. Giles dragged her behind the desk at the nurse's station and then, stake in hand, pelted down the hallway to join the fray - just in time to see Buffy grab the vampire from behind and hold him steady for Faith to stake. He exploded in the usual cloud of dust. Faith didn't spare either of them a glance before bolting back into the room. Alarmed, Giles looked in after her, but Wesley seemed unharmed, if rather pale, sitting up on the edge of the bed with a stake in his hand.

"Are you all right?" Giles asked Buffy.

"Yeah," Buffy said, brushing dust off her clothes.

"Faith? Wesley?

"Perfectly well," Wesley said, in a voice that was too thin and too quiet. "Quite eager to get out of here, though, I must say." On closer look, Giles revised his earlier assessment from "rather pale" to "very pale." It might have simply been the hospital gown, but as Wesley was clutching his ribs with his free hand and grimacing, Giles found that unlikely. Faith was hovering and obviously trying to look like she wasn't, standing a few feet back with her arms folded over her chest.

"I agree," Giles said, glancing up and down the hallway. "Let's see if we can spring you."

It took them nearly an hour; they wouldn't let him go until a doctor could be found to look at the x-rays, after which they made the same diagnosis Giles had - two cracked ribs and lots of bruising - and finally gave them what they'd come for: a prescription for antibiotics and another for Wesley's own bottle of Vicodin, not that Giles didn't have enough to go around. They'd stitched him up as well, Faith told them while they were waiting for the radiologist to finish with Wesley. Giles nodded, satisfied. Sunnydale Memorial wasn't perhaps the most state of the art facility, but their staff did have plenty of experience.

Faith and Buffy took the script off to get it filled, while Giles helped Wesley dress. His pallor was beginning to edge into gray. Giles hoped that once they got to the library he'd be able to persuade the man to take a pill and lie down for a bit. In the meantime he offered him a shoulder to lean on while he got his trousers on one very careful leg at a time, and then helped him ease his arms into the jumper.

Mission accomplished, Wesley stayed leaning on him, head almost resting on Giles's shoulder. Giles became aware that his hand had come to rest on Wesley's wrist; the pulse beneath his fingers was a bit too rapid for his liking, but the rest of it was pleasant. Almost restful. Giles felt himself let go some of the tension his disastrous conversation with Buffy had left him with, not to mention the vampire fight - though come to think of it, that had been far less taxing than the conversation.

"All right?" he asked Wesley in a low voice.

"Yes," he said, not moving. "Just a bit . . . tired."

Giles nodded. "There's a sofa in my office at the library."

Wesley started to straighten. "I should help with the research."

"If you feel up to it. If not - well, I'm quite grateful for the company."

Wesley shifted most of his weight back onto his own two feet and looked at Giles. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine," Giles said, and pulled his glasses off to polish them. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Wesley shook his head. "No reason. I apologize, I didn't mean to pry."

Together they made their way down to the waiting area again, where they found the girls waiting. Faith had a white chemist's bag clutched in her hand. Buffy was avoiding his eyes still, or rather meeting them briefly and then glancing away. She turned down their offer of a ride to the part of town where Kakistos was purportedly hiding before Faith could even weigh in. "We'll meet you back at the library," she said, turning away.

"Before sundown," Giles reminded the back of her head. "Do you have enough stakes?"

"Yeah," she said, waving over her shoulder on her way out.

"Faith?"

"Yeah, five by five with the stakes." She glanced towards Wesley and added, almost in an undertone, "Make sure he takes his pills," before turning on her heel and bolting out after Buffy. Giles stared after them until they turned the corner and disappeared. He felt something in his gut unclench once they were gone and immediately felt sorry for it; he should not have been glad to see Buffy go, but he was. This was bad, he thought, very bad indeed, and he had even less of an idea about what he could do to fix it now. Talking had been horrendous for them both. Perhaps time would mend the wound, but there was a chance that it would only fester and get worse.

Get worse how? he wondered bitterly. He did not care to find out.

Wesley was watching him, Giles realized. "Er," he said, resisting the urge to polish his glasses again. "I suppose we should -" He gestured toward the doors.

"Yes." Wesley followed him out under his own steam, albeit rather unsteadily.

Giles tried to put the morning behind him, making a list in his head of all the books he had in the library that might have information on Kakistos in them. _An Index of Ancient Beasts and Daemons, Vampyres of Legend,_ and, of course, _Kakistos: 1500-1960_. He'd picked up that last volume on a whim several years ago at a watcher's estate sale in Chester and thought it a bit of a lark; now he was grateful to have it on hand.

This occupied him steadily during the drive across town. Wesley leaned back in the passenger seat with his eyes shut, until at last he broke the silence with, "I've been wondering how you manage it."

Giles glanced over. "Manage what?"

"Persuade Buffy to listen to you. It's quite remarkable from my perspective." Wesley sat up straighter, wincing. "Faith never fails to amaze me, but the first thing I had to do when I realized that this was to be a long-term partnership and that I would not be, er, summarily dismissed, was throw out any notion that she would ever pay the slightest heed to any word I said."

Giles slid to a stop at a red light and turned to Wesley, frowning. "Faith adores you."

Wesley nodded, smiling fondly. "But she doesn't listen to me. Buffy adores you _and_ listens to you. However do you do it?"

The light turned green. "I'm fairly certain I don't, these days."

Wesley didn't answer for a moment. At last he said, "Rupert, as I said before, I certainly don't mean to pry -"

"Then don't," Giles said repressively.

Wesley fell silent. Giles pulled into a parking space close to the school entrance, cut the engine, and sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you." Wesley nodded, but made no move to leave the car, merely went on looking at him patiently. "Buffy and I had a difficult conversation this morning. It did not go well, and I'm a bit - a bit out of sorts at the moment. I do apologize, but I would prefer to simply forget about it for the rest of the day, if possible. We have enough on our plates at the moment."

"Well," Wesley sighed, "that is certainly true. I won't push you, Rupert, but I'd like to point out what an extraordinary opportunity this is. Two watchers, two slayers."

"I was thinking about that last night," Giles said, turning his head as a group of students suddenly streamed across the parking lot - a football match must have just ended. It was rather later in the day than he'd thought, what with all the time at the hospital. "Unprecedented, isn't it?"

"So far as I know. And in light of that - Rupert, I realize this is very forward and, well, terribly un-English of me, but if you need to talk to someone, it might as well be me."

Giles turned to look at him. Wesley looked back steadily, blue eyes dark and serious. This was a man who could be his friend, Giles thought. And more, perhaps, if he wanted it. He was fairly certain he wasn't the only one who had felt the - he supposed Buffy would call it "sparkage," such a silly term considering they were two grown men, yet apt enough all the same - when they'd stood leaning against each other in the hospital room. But he wasn't sure he did want it, and mutual trauma was not the best basis on which to build a relationship. Perhaps if Wesley and Faith stayed on a bit, then he might be able to think about it.

Or perhaps he would simply decide that romance on the hellmouth was a terrible idea and take a vow of celibacy for the duration. Either way, now was not the time to decide. He made noncommittal noises and climbed out of the car.

Giles enjoyed the library on a Saturday afternoon. He usually had it to himself, unless Buffy showed up to blast her music and do her calisthenics and wreck his weapons. It was a good time to indulge in a bit of research for its own sake if nothing evil was afoot. As an active watcher he wasn't expected to publish monographs or papers, but there was such a thing as intellectual curiosity. Giles didn't have the opportunity very often these days - the hellmouth tended to have its own ideas about what he should be reading up on at any given time - but a quiet library on a Saturday afternoon was a good place for it.

Wesley sat down on his sofa, took a Vicodin and the first of his antibiotics, and immediately fell asleep, despite his drowsy promises to help. Giles shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over him, recognizing in his own ridiculous urge to fuss the first glimmerings of whatever-it-was. He sighed at himself and found the books he'd mentally catalogued in the car. With the exception of the volume on Kakistos, Giles expected that Wesley had every one of them in his own collection and would have mentioned it if he'd found anything useful in them, but it was worth a second pass. He glanced at the clock as he settled at his desk. Three hours until he could expect the girls back, unless they returned early. Time enough.

Wesley slept soundly for the rest of the afternoon. Giles read at his desk, paging with growing unease through the volume on Kakistos while his tea grew cold at his elbow. Wesley had been lucky, he concluded with a shudder. Kakistos made Angelus look unimaginative.

When the office grew too dim to read comfortably, he reached for the lamp and went on. Only when Wesley finally stirred and sat up, rubbing his face wearily, did Giles raise his head. Only then did he realize that he'd needed to turn the light on because the sun had gone down and it was almost full dark out. Only then did he realize that Faith and Buffy should have returned an hour ago.

"Are the girls -" Wesley began, but broke off when he saw Giles's face. "Perhaps they were held up," he suggested after a moment, "or decided to stop by Buffy's house."

Giles shook his head. "Buffy would have called me. Something must have happened." Not necessarily the worst, but something, and considering their present circumstances that was bad enough.

They hurried out to the car together. The school was utterly deserted now; whatever extracurricular activities had been going on earlier were finished and the last of the day's light and warmth were about to vanish as well. Giles's car was the only one left in the lot. He was in such a blind hurry that he'd yanked open the driver's side door before he realized that they would in fact not be going anywhere in it - all four tires had been slashed.

Judging by the swearing Wesley had realized it as well. "It's fine," Giles said, slamming the door shut, "we still have your car. I parked it a few streets over. Stay here, I'll -"

"Rupert."

Giles stopped, looking to see what Wesley was staring at. There was a rock on the hood of his car, holding something down. An envelope. Giles reached for it and saw, stamped in what looked terribly like blood, the emblem he'd seen carved into Wesley's chest the night before. Below it was an address written in the same rust-red fluid. He looked up and met Wesley's eyes. Wesley's throat moved as he swallowed. Hands shaking, Giles tore the envelope open, dreading what he might find. His reading that afternoon had provided him with a plethora of possibilities.

He did not know whether to be relieved or sickened when he drew out two locks of hair, braided together in a loose plait: one dark brown, one blonde.


	3. Chapter 3

Giles sprinted the three blocks between the school and Wesley's car in roughly half the time he'd thought possible. He broke half a dozen traffic laws on the way back and pulled into the parking lot and then the space beside the Citroen so fast he heard all the weapons in the back go flying about. He sprang out and grabbed a few choice pieces of his own arsenal out of the boot of the Citroen, including Buffy's favorite sword - it was too short for him and the grip was all wrong for someone left-handed, but once she was free she'd want it.

This was what he told himself.

Wesley, who had not argued with Giles's order to stay behind and let him go for the car, was arming himself similarly, his mouth set in a grim line. Giles cast a sidelong glance at him. He was not well enough for this, not in the slightest. The jumper covered fresh bandages and stitches, and he was doing his best to hide, with minimal success, how stiffly and painfully he moved on account of his ribs. And if someone had asked him to face Angelus less than two days after his own ordeal - he couldn't have. The idea still gave him chills.

And yet Giles knew better than to ask him if he wanted to stay behind. Wesley must have read most of what Giles had that afternoon, which meant he was imagining the same things Giles was. There was no staying behind; there were no options at all, beyond going in well armed and ready to do _anything_ to get the girls out alive and whole. He had to believe that Kakistos would keep them that way, that he'd want to inflict maximum anguish and that meant waiting until he and Wesley were there to watch.

Giles noticed that Wesley slid an extra sword, too short and light to be his own, into the backseat along with a generous number of stakes and a state-of-the-art crossbow.

Giles drove. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them mentioned that they were heading straight into what was obviously a trap: Kakistos had provided an address for God's sake. They had no choice. Wesley had been with Faith long enough to know that everything they were told in their training was a lie - the slayer was what mattered, not their knowledge, not their years of training. To her watcher, the slayer was everything. Giles cursed himself silently for losing track of that these last few weeks, too wrapped up in his own problems, in his own pain. That argument earlier today - if he lost her now, that would be the last conversation they'd had. Unbearable. It would be unbearable.

They left behind the bright lights of downtown and entered the poorer area where they'd eluded Kakistos the night before. It was a warehouse by the docks, off Broadway like Willy had said but on a smaller side street with no lighting at all after dark. Giles parked on the main road and, after a moment's thought, tucked the key under the front tire. He made sure Wesley saw it; if something happened to Giles, he didn't want the others to be without a get-away.

Giles led the way, Buffy's sword strapped to his back in its scabbard, his own hanging at his side. He had a stake tucked in his back pocket and one in his boot as well. Wesley followed, keeping up with no complaints, though Giles noticed, before they moved into deep shadow, that he'd gone pale about the mouth. Whether from pain or fear, Giles didn't know. He certainly had the right to both. He was counting on the man's concern for Faith to keep his wits about him.

Wesley cleared his throat. "Do you have a plan?"

Giles nodded. "No time for subtlety. I'm going to go straight in the front. You circle around, find the back way - there's usually a delivery entrance in these warehouses. You free the girls. I provide the distraction."

Wesley looked appalled. "You realize that plan is going to get you killed."

"Not if you work quickly."

"Work quickly - he has half a dozen lesser vampires with him at any given time, you can't possible plan to take them all on."

"I have a sword. It should be enough to fend them off. And when it's not, I have a stake." Giles smiled grimly. "I have two, in fact."

"Kakistos needs more than a mere staking, it's been tried before."

"Then we'll just have to see what else we can come up with." The building was in sight. They paused. Giles tested the draw of his sword and turned to Wesley, intending to tell him to get himself to safety once the girls were free and leave the fighting to those without fresh stitches and broken ribs.

Wesley slid a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him.

Giles froze. The kiss was short-lived, unfortunately, and so he had no time to unfreeze before it ended. Wesley pulled back and looked at him; in the near pitch-black, Giles couldn't read anything in his expression. "Wesley?"

"Something to live for, I suppose," Wesley said, looking away toward the warehouse. "Don't die foolishly."

"I'll try not to," Giles said, and they parted, Wesley melting into shadow around the back. Giles drew his sword and walked right up to the front of the warehouse; a guard appeared, snarling at him, and Giles swung, severing head from neck. He strode through the cloud of dust without flinching, and pushed open the heavy doors of the warehouse. Their rusted hinges shrieked and whatever surprise Giles had left on his side - not much to begin with, considering it was a trap - was gone.

Three vampires rushed in immediately from either side. "Giles!" he heard Buffy shout. Giles pulled a stake free with his right hand and dusted the first one using its own momentum; the others moved more cautiously, unarmed save for their fangs and supernatural strength - which was to say, plenty armed. One went for Giles's sword arm; he ducked, came up swinging, and clipped it across the chest. The second used his distraction to kick him and he went down. He rolled away, back to his feet. He'd lost the stake but not the sword.

He had to resist scanning the floor to find Buffy. He heard a deep boom of evil laughter - Kakistos, he knew instantly. Giles had to get past these vampires to get to him, to distract him enough to give Wesley his window of opportunity. Out the corner of his eye he saw the first vampire coming in again to strike; he brought the sword up and caught him on the side of the head. The vampire staggered, and Giles used the opening to sweep his sword straight through his neck -

And immediately went down under the weight of the second, who seemed to have abandoned all finesse and gone for brute strength. It worked well enough - Giles lost his sword and found himself in the unfortunate position of doing hand-to-hand with a vampire sitting on top of him. The creature's hands went for his neck. Giles twisted away desperately, fingers questing for the sword or stake - the stake would be better at such close quarters, but he had no idea where it had gone - the vampire was pressing on his carotid artery and things were going black at the edges -

Buffy cried out, wordlessly. It gave Giles the impetus he needed to throw himself to the side, dislodging the vampire at last. His hands closed around the stake and he drove it upwards, straight into the thing's chest. It exploded over him and Giles rolled to his feet, gasping for breath and staggering slightly, but finally able to scan the floor. His breath caught.

The warehouse was less abandoned than he'd thought. There were boxes and wooden crates piled everywhere and bodies, drained and dead, lying scattered about the floor. But Giles's gaze went immediately to the far side where the girls were bound to two support beams. Faith had a nasty cut on her forehead that was bleeding down her face, but seemed otherwise unharmed. But Buffy - Buffy was shirtless and bleeding from so many places Giles hardly knew where to look. The worst seemed to be a wide gash across her stomach, probably not deep enough to be dangerous, but bleeding profusely nonetheless. It looked fresh; he suspected that was what had made her scream.

"Giles," she said again, turning her head to look at him. "Giles, don't -" Giles grabbed his sword and ran to her. Kakistos, enormous, powerful, clad in a red tunic, stepped easily into his path and back-handed him. Giles found himself flung back. He slid to a stop on the filthy concrete floor of the warehouse and lay dazed. He shoved himself up, but Kakistos was there before he got any further, grabbing him by the throat and the front of his shirt and lifting him easily. "Watcher," he snarled, "I assume you got my gift."

Giles's feet were barely touching the floor. He tightened his hands around Kakistos's wrists, knowing it would do nothing.

_Thunk_. The thick, meaty sound of crossbow bolt hitting flesh. Kakistos roared and dropped Giles, who managed to keep his feet. Not for long though; Kakisto's next blow, delivered in fury at the bolt sticking out from beneath his shoulder blade, knocked him back on his arse again. Lying on his side, facing the back of the warehouse, he saw movement in the shadows. Wesley, who'd stupidly given away his position firing that crossbow, was grappling with someone. Giles gritted his teeth and rose again, sword at the ready.

Kakistos reached up, ripped out the bolt, and rolled his shoulders. "You brought a friend, I see," Kakistos said, grinning grotesquely. "I hope it's that other watcher. I never got to finish shredding him to bloody pieces." He paced in a circle around Giles and then struck, too fast for Giles to follow, knocking the sword from Giles's stunned fingers. "You think you can stop me with your toys. You can't save them. I will kill them, I will strip their spines from their bodies, and eat their beating hearts, and suck the marrow from their bones. And you will _watch_."

A strangled cry from the back of the warehouse - Wesley. Giles turned, distracted, and Kakistos suddenly drove the handle of the sword into his stomach. All the breath rushed out of him and he fell to his knees, retching. His vision wavered. When it cleared at last, Wesley, conscious but stumbling, was being marched into the circle of light by another vampire, this one smiling broadly. "Look what I found," the vampire said. "The one that got away." Faith made a terrible noise, pulling at her bonds.

"Ahh, Mr. Trick, how nice. You," Kakistos said, transferring his gaze from Giles, who was still on his hands and knees trying not to vomit, to Wesley. "I believe we have some unfinished business, don't we?" Using one cloven hand, Kakistos ripped open Wesley's shirt, revealing the bandages below.

"No, Wes, no, no, no," Faith said, almost moaning. Giles finally managed to unfreeze, pushing himself shakily to his feet. Kakistos's attention was wholly on Wesley now, which at least provided the distraction he had originally intended to make himself. He leaned on the wall for a few seconds until the room stopped spinning and then, eyes trained on Kakistos and the other vampire - Trick - he slipped off to the side, not chancing to stop and pick up his sword, following the wall of the warehouse until he reached Buffy and Faith.

He crouched down, using a pile of wooden crates as cover, and and went to work on their bonds, which were made of a thin cable, flexible but incredibly strong. Giles didn't even bother trying the sword on it. "You must keep calm," he muttered to them. "Faith," he added, more sharply, "you must -"

"You fucking bastard, just untie me before he rips Wes apart," she hissed.

This was easier said than done. The knots were tight, pulled taut with vampire strength, and though Giles didn't think he had started harming Wesley yet - vampires _would_ fit the taunting in, no matter how tight their killing schedule - every moment he spent pulling desperately at them was a moment Wesley spent being tormented by the vampire who'd tortured and mutilated him.

He nearly had them when he heard a sharp shout of, "Hey!" and looked up to see Trick staring straight at him. Giles pulled Buffy's sword from its scabbard and stepped away to meet him, hoping he'd loosened the bonds enough that the girls could get free on their own now. He backed around, keeping Trick at bay with the sword, which felt strange in his hand and would not do for intense fighting but was at least sharp. He'd nearly achieved the center of the warehouse when he suddenly found himself bowled over as Kakistos threw Wesley into him. Giles rolled to his feet, keeping the sword in one hand and pulling Wesley up after him with the other. Wesley gasped and made a low, pained noise under his breath, but he didn't cry out. Kakistos laughed and Trick grinned; Giles kept hold of Wesley using his free arm, holding him up and gripping him against his side.

"All right?" Giles muttered.

"Y-yes," Wesley managed through teeth clenched in pain. "My shoulder - I think he dislocated it - glasses gone, I can't see -"

"I've got you. Don't worry." An outright lie. Kakistos was advancing, smiling grimly, and Giles knew it was only a matter of moments before he made his move. Giles would be severely disadvantaged with a sword that was all wrong for his grip and reach. Wesley was barely on his feet. He didn't dare look to see where the girls were, if they'd got free or were being tormented by Trick. He felt the warehouse wall suddenly press up against his back. Dead end. Ha bloody ha.

"Hey, Taquitos!" Kakistos turned. Giles looked up, lips parting in hope. Buffy - covered in blood, but gloriously, wonderfully alive, stood in the center of the warehouse, Giles's broadsword in her hands. She swung it, showing off. "Yeah, you," she said when Kakistos snarled. "Do you know what bloodstains do to cotton?" she asked, stepping to her right, pulling him away from Giles and Wesley. "This bra? Is toast. And I liked it."

Where the hell was Faith? Not to mention Trick, who was still nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was dust, but Giles thought he would have heard the death scream and he hadn't. Buffy waited until Kakistos was almost upon her, then let fly with her favorite roundhouse kick; he blocked it, but she was suddenly there with a stake in her hand. Her aim was true - it slid in straight over the heart. Kakistos staggered back, roared, and backhanded her. She went flying. He ripped the stake out and tossed it aside to skitter off into the shadows. "Pathetic little slayer," he said. "Guess you need a bigger stake!"

He exploded into dust.

Giles stared. It was a few seconds before he saw Faith, standing beside Buffy and holding a beam, painted black and broken off to a point at one end. She was breathing hard and staring at the empty space where Kakistos had been only moments before as though she was in shock. Buffy beside her looked much the same, wrapping her arms around herself. Giles spared only a moment to make sure Wesley could stand before he ran to her, stripping off his jacket. She shrugged into it and folded it around herself. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Think so," she said, but she wouldn't look at him. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. She was shaking.

"Do you need to go to hospital?" he said, touching her under the chin and forcing her to meet his eyes.

"No," she said, giving him a small smile, "it's all superficial stuff. Slayer healing's already taking care of it."

Giles nodded. "Wesley?" he asked, glancing up. "Is your shoulder -"

"Ugh," Wesley grunted as Faith unceremoniously shoved it back into place. Giles flinched in sympathy. "Good Christ. When you say on the count of three -"

"You always do it on the count of two, otherwise you tense up," Faith told him, the lack of sympathy in her tone belied by the fact that she was massaging his arm. "You taught me that."

"Did I?" Wesley said, sounding rather faint. "Oh."

"Well, then," Giles said, "I suppose we should, er -"

"Get the fuck out of Dodge?" Faith suggested, looping Wesley's good arm over her shoulder. "Hell yeah. And someone needs to fucking feed me. I'm starved."

Thus, Giles found himself in his kitchen once more, this time putting together a decent pasta sauce to feed two famished slayers, not to mention himself and Wesley. He didn't have the ingredients for anything particularly fancy on hand, but tinned tomatoes, garlic, fresh basil, mushrooms, and onions would do well enough, especially if he threw in some Italian sausage for protein. He had Parmesan as well, and not the sort that came in packets at the pizza parlor. He worked steadily, enjoying the simple motions that cooking required of him. The rest of him was aching rather badly as the exertions of the evening, not to mention the beating he'd taken in Buffy's training session the night before - God, had it only been twenty-four hours ago? - caught up with him. He had an enormous bruise on his stomach from where Kakistos had driven the butt of the sword into him, but as he was quite lucky he hadn't been skewered entirely, he felt he could hardly complain.

He'd just set the sauce to simmering and was spreading butter on french rolls for garlic bread when Buffy padded into the kitchen. Her feet were bare; she wore yoga pants and one of his softest shirts, big enough not to brush too much against the wound on her stomach, which Giles had treated and bandaged for her. He smiled at her and she leaned against the counter, watching him. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, "I just got the feeling the two of them wanted some, you know, watcher-slayer time."

Giles glanced over her head and saw that Wesley and Faith were sitting close together on his sofa, apparently speaking quietly. "Ah."

"Plus, I thought, maybe we could, I dunno, use some, too. You want me to do that?" She held her hands out for the bread and knife.

He blinked at her in bemusement. "Certainly. Wash your hands, please."

She set to work and he opened the refrigerator to see what he had in the way of vegetables for salad. Nothing but the basics, it turned out, but it would put something green on their plates to go with the carbohydrate-laden meal. Not that they hadn't all earned a bit of comfort food. He turned to set the lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots on the cutting board and found Buffy staring at him, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. He started and then reached for her, but she ducked away, shaking her head. "Giles," she said, voice breaking, "I'm really sorry that I wasn't - wasn't there when -"

"Oh Buffy," he said, shaking his head. He took the French bread and the butter knife from her and lay them aside before gathering her in to hold close. She let him this time. "Shh, it's all right. I'm sorry, I should never have made you feel - what I said today was unconscionable. And when I thought I might - might lose you, I -" He tightened his hold on her, and she sniffled into his shirt. "I'm sorry. You wouldn't have left if you'd felt you could stay."

She nodded and pulled away just enough to look at him. "It wasn't what you thought, though. I didn't leave because I had to - to kill Angelus. I could've done that, Giles, I was ready. But -" She swallowed. Giles watched her carefully. "But Willow's spell worked," she finished at last, almost in a whisper. "Something went through him, right at the end, and . . . and he was Angel again."

Giles stared, stunned - and yet somehow profoundly relieved. He had wondered in his darkest moments that summer if Buffy would have ever done it at all, had the fate of the world not hung in the balance. That was not his slayer, though, and now - things suddenly made sense. Part of him was completely unsurprised. "I - I'm so sorry," he managed at last.

She looked away. "Yeah. But it - it was too late. The portal was open and I - I had to." She took a deep breath. "So I told him I loved, and I kissed him, and I killed him." She rested her forehead against his chest; he lay his hand on the back of her neck and waited patiently. "I'm sorry I left. But I - I was at the school the next morning, and I saw all of you and I just couldn't - but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't there, Giles. I should've been. I wanted to call you so many times this summer, but, but I just -"

He held her silently for a long minute, sensing that she didn't want him to say anything - he'd already said he was sorry for everything he had to be sorry about, and she knew he'd forgiven her. At last she pulled away. He produced a clean handkerchief for her, which made her laugh weakly. "Are you all right now?" she asked, looking down at her feet.

"I . . . " Giles paused, removed his glasses, and set to polishing him - with the hem of his shirt, as his handkerchief was currently in use. "No," he said at last. "I'm not. But we are, you and I. And I will be."

She let out a breath. "Good."

He kissed her on the forehead and let her go back to the bread and butter.

By the time dinner was ready she looked normal again, her eyes no longer red-rimmed from weeping, able to smile as she and Faith re-enacted - for the fifth time - Kakistos's staking. Giles sat back in his arm chair, ate his pasta, and watched them. Watched Wesley watch them, a faint smile playing over his lips. And then, eventually, caught Wesley watching him. Giles smiled at him and dropped his gaze back down to his pasta.

After dinner he did the washing up. He waved off Wesley's offers of help and noted, with a familiar mixture of annoyance and fondness that was extremely reassuring, that Buffy had not offered. By the time he set the last plate neatly in the dish drain to dry, conversation in the living room had dropped off altogether. He stepped out of the kitchen to find Buffy and Faith asleep, curled up at opposite ends of the sofa, and Wesley in a similar state in the chair, melted ice pack on his shoulder. He fetched blankets from the hall closet for the girls before calling Buffy's mother to let her know that all was well, Buffy and Faith were here for the night, and he'd bring them back in the morning. Then he gently shook Wesley awake.

He came awake with a gasp, which quickly turned to a groan, albeit a quiet one. Giles frowned worriedly and rubbed slow circles on his back until Wesley relaxed, still wincing. "The girls have the sofa, it seems," Giles said. "I - not to sound terribly forward, but -"

"I don't want to displace you from your bed," Wesley said, frowning.

"Well," Giles gave him a small smile, "I'd rather hoped you wouldn't."

Wesley looked up at him, obviously startled. "Oh."

"Not that it has to mean anything, of course," he added hastily. "It just seems practical, given the circumstances - and, and evidence would suggest that perhaps you would be, er, amenable."

"Very amenable," Wesley said, smiling back now. He covered Giles's hand with his own. "Yes, thank you."

Giles found him a clean set of pajamas, which Wesley took into the bathroom with him, and then hurried back upstairs to pick up a bit - it wasn't often that he shared this space with anyone, and he'd got a bit lax when it came to things like books on the nightstand - and the floor - and every other available surface. Task accomplished, he went downstairs for his turn in the bathroom; he found Wesley standing by the sofa, watching the girls sleep. Giles touched him softly on his uninjured shoulder so as not to startle him, and Wesley turned to look at him. The man really did have the most lovely eyes, Giles thought, completely aware he was being ridiculous and not caring a whit.

"We were thinking of staying a few months," Wesley said, almost in a whisper. "Would that be all right with you?"

Giles slipped an arm around Wesley's waist. "Better than all right. It's a hellmouth, there's always enough slaying and apocalypse to go around. " He hesitated. "And truthfully, I find myself growing . . . fond."

"Fond?"

"Yes. Fond. Of you."

Wesley smiled. "Plus, we are - unprecedented. Seems a shame not to take advantage of that."

"Indeed." Giles leaned in to brush his mouth, just lightly, over Wesley's. He felt more than heard Wesley's breath hitch, and then Wesley deepened the kiss, his hand coming to rest on Giles's hip - nothing too naughty, just a subtle give and take, but with a little swipe of tongue now and then.

"Will you two get a fucking room?" Faith mumbled sleepily, startling them both into springing apart like guilty schoolboys caught snogging. They exchanged a sheepish look and then a smile.

Wesley insisted he didn't need help up to the loft. Giles changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, and then loaded up a tray with an ice pack, a heating pad, and some fresh gauze and antibiotic creme. He nudged open the door to the bedroom with his hip and then shut it gently with his foot. Wesley was under the covers with his eyes shut already, but they slitted open to watch him place the tray rather precariously on the bedside table. "What are you, the First Aid Fairy?"

Giles smiled and nudged him over so he could sit on the edge of the bed. "Something like that. I think you could use one, yes?"

Wesley grimaced. "Probably. I didn't wish to alarm Faith, but . . ."

"Right, then. You need another cold pack for that shoulder."

"It doesn't hurt that badly. Just aches a bit. I'd prefer the heating pad to the cold pack, really."

"Hmm," Giles said, a bit disapprovingly. "All right. And the rest of it?"

Wesley grimaced, but he was already going to work on the buttons of his pajama top. He pushed it away from the bandages and Giles suddenly had bigger things to think about than whether a cold pack or a heating pad was better for Wesley's bruised and swollen shoulder. The bandages were soaked through in places, but the wounds didn't seem to be bleeding at the moment, Giles noted with a mix of concern and relief. He took his time removing the bandages, not wishing to hurt Wesley unnecessarily by rushing. He bathed and cleaned the wounds and removed a couple stitches Wesley had pulled out altogether. Wesley lay quietly under his hands, wincing periodically, until Giles had finished. Then Giles gave him the heating pad wrapped in a towel, plugged it into the bedside socket, and left him to do with it as he wished while he disposed of the bloody bandages.

Sharing his bed was a rare and precious experience, but Giles let Wesley determine how close they were really going to sleep. To his surprise and pleasure Wesley pressed himself very close indeed. They kissed again, slowly, a bit more deeply this time, but neither of them pushed things further. Wesley likely wouldn't be healthy enough for some time yet, and Giles found he preferred to proceed cautiously as well. There was undeniably something exciting about being unprecedented, but it had its drawbacks, one of which was that neither of them knew exactly how this would proceed. He didn't want to ruin a good thing for their slayers by rushing into something with Wesley only to have it end badly.

Their kisses slowed as they grew drowsy, until at last Wesley sighed, tucked his head into the crook of Giles's neck, and fell asleep.

Wesley woke once in the night, jerking awake in Giles's arms with a cry he nearly managed to swallow. Giles held him as he came down from the nightmare, murmuring to him softly until the tremors had mostly subsided. Wesley didn't say anything, simply lay staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. Giles propped himself up on an elbow and stroked the hair back from Wesley's face. "It's over, he's dead, you're safe," he said, like a mantra, remembering how Xander and Willow had repeated those words to him in the nights after Angelus. They were all that had made sense much of the time, even if he'd not always believed them.

"Does it get better?" Wesley asked, some long minutes after he had woken.

Giles nodded. "But slowly. I won't lie to you."

"How long?" Wesley whispered, voice hoarse.

Giles was quiet. He wondered briefly if perhaps he should lie after all and in the end decided he could not. "I'll let you know."

Wesley made a small, ambiguous sound. Giles held him close, pressed his lips to his temple, his forehead, his hair. It was early days yet, but all the same, Giles found within himself an optimism and lightness of heart he'd not known for some time. This man could be his friend, he thought once again. His lover. His partner in bed, in watching. They could be unprecedented, together.

_Fin._


End file.
